TWO HOLY MEN.
YOUTH — what is it without love? Love — what is it without youth?
The fire burns readily in pure air, and what air is purer than the breath of spring?
True, the walls of Mussulmans’ courts are high, and the locks of their gates are strong; but the wind blows over the walls and through the key-holes.
The hearts of beautiful women are well protected, — they are kept behind the padlocks of a thousand prejudices; but love is like the wind, — it easily finds a passage.
Kassime was already in love without the courage to confess it. Iskander Beg had the most of her thoughts by day and the most of her dreams by night; while embroidering in advance with gold, as every young Tartar girl does, the pistol-case for the fiancé whom she did not know, Kassime kept saying to herself, —
“Oh! if this might be Iskander’s!”
Judge, then, of her joy when her uncle came officially to announce that she was the promised bride of this handsome young man!
She became redder than a cherry, and her heart began to beat like a wild dove’s.
And so her dearest and most secret wishes were to be realized.
From that moment, her nameless hopes were called Iskander; from that moment she could receive with pride the congratulations of her companions, and, in her conversations with them, she, too, could speak of her future husband.
As for Iskander, he did not feel the earth under his feet, and to console himself for not being allowed to see his promised bride, he thought of her incessantly.
“She will work here on this rug; she will drink out of this cup; she will refresh her rosy cheeks with the water from this silver ewer; she will sleep under this satin coverlet.”
Into those countries of the Caucasus that follow the religion of Ali, there frequently come priests and mullahs from Persia to expound the Koran and recount the miracles of their imdms.
This, as a rule, takes place in the month of May.
Beginning with the first day of this month, the Shiites celebrate the death of Hussein, Ali’s son, who, after the death of his father, rebelled against Yazid, son of Moawyah, with the intention of seizing the caliphate; but engaging in battle with Obaid Allah, Yazid’s general, ho was killed in the combat. The Shiites celebrate the anniversary of this event with great splendor. The fete takes place at night, by the light of numberless torches; and this time, coming from Tabbas to direct the fête, Mullah Sédek had remained in Derbend throughout the entire month of May.
Mullah Sédek was a man of forty years, affecting extreme dignity, for which reason he walked as slowly as a man of seventy, — in a word, for twenty paces round him he exhaled the odor of sanctity and attar of rose.
And yet, while Sédek’s eyes were raised to heaven, he never quite lost sight of earth. He had few friends; but as soon as a man came to him with money in his hand, that man found a welcome. He had reaped a rich harvest of presents at Derbend, but it was his desire to carry away something else besides money and jewels. He thought of marrying, and after having secured information as to the best matches in the city, he made overtures to Hadji Festahli, with respect to his niece, whom he knew to be richly endowed.
He began his overtures by flattering Hadji Festahli, and as vanity was the weakness of Kassime’s uncle, Sédek had, in a short time, come to be his most intimate friend.
“Ahsaid Sédek,” the end of the world is not far distant now. Houtte, the fish on whose back the universe rests, is weary of bearing, along with the weight of men, the otherwise heavy burden of their sins. The Mussulmans are corrupt: they worship money; they wear decorations in their button-holes and ribbons of many colors on their swords. Truly, I know not what would have become of Derbend when she was threatened by the Lord, if you had not been there to act with your virtues as a counterpoise to the crimes of the people. You are a pure man, a respectable man, a holy man, a true Shiite; you are in league with neither the Armenians nor the Russians. The only thing I will not and cannot believe is that you are marrying your niece to this wretched Iskander, who i3 as poor as a dervish’s dog. When I heard that report I said to myself: ‘It is not possible! A man like Hadji Festahli would not cast the pearl of the prophet into the mud; he will not give his brother’s daughter to the first-comer.’ No, I am sure it is either a lie or a jest.”
“And yet, it is the truth,” admitted Festahli, quite embarrassed.
And he told Sédek the whole story; how Iskander had made his conditions, and how he himself had been obliged to consent to this marriage.
“I can say with truth,” he added, “that there are in Derbend no eligible young men with fortunes; the rich men, as if by a curse, are all old.”
Mullah Sédek stroked his beard and said: “All is from Allah! all shall return to Allah! Are there no true worshippers of Hussein in the land of Iran? The sun rises and sets twice each day in the great king’s empire, and there is where you should choose a husband for your niece. O holy prophet, if you would mate the moon with one of the most glorious stars of heaven, I will send you my nephew, Mir Heroulali Tebris. He is intelligent and handsome; he is so rich that he does not know the number of his pearls and diamonds, and yet he is as shy and modest as a girl. AY lien he passes through the bazaar, every one bows, and it is who shall provide him with fruits, with cakes, with raisins. There is no danger of a single visitor’s presenting himself at his house without a present. If ever your niece becomes his wife, you can rest assured that she will have the first place in the baths of Tabbas.”
This proposition was all the more pleasing to Festahli as it must destroy the hopes of Iskander, whom he could not endure.
However, he had scruples against thus breaking a sacred promise.
He therefore told Sédek that if such a transaction could be brought about, he would be rendered the proudest and happiest man in the world; but it was to be feared that Kassime’s mother might not approve. Then, too, the commandant of Derbend would certainly not permit a native of his own town, and consequently a Russian, to wed a Persian. And, besides, what would the people of Derbend say?
“What will people say?” has some weight in Paris or at Saint Petersburg; but on the shores of the Caspian Sea, in the Orient, it is an afterthought of one who has forgotten his first.
“‘What will they say?9” replied Sédek, banteringly. “Why, they will say that you are a man of judgment! To commit faults is pardonable, — to repair them praiseworthy; and, to be frank, what has this Iskander done that is so wonderful? Do you really believe that his snow brought the rain? Let me manage the thing, and I will show you how this affair can be arranged. In the meantime, give out that your sister is dangerously ill, and that, in fear of death, she has sworn to marry her daughter to none but a descendant of the prophet, to an imam. Your sister never leaves her room; in her room, even, she is as dumb as a fish: do not consult her. Have you not read in the sacred books how Job beat his wife when she counselled him to make friends with the devil? Besides, is Kassime’s mother your wife? What is she to you? A sister; that is all. Then spit upon her caprices.”
“And the commandant?” said Festahli, smiling.
“What can the commandant do? And then, cannot the commandant be tricked? What hinders your getting a passport to go to see your relatives in Persia?”
Festahli consented, or rather, he had already consented long before.
The next day they sent back to Iskander the halmi, or wedding-present, which he had already given to his betrothed.
The young man, not being able to tear his hair, very nearly tore off his ears. For a long time he could not believe in this insult. But the bag, with the money it contained, was certainly there, under his very eyes. The old aunt could make nothing of it, and she pitied him with all her soul.
Iskander was overwhelmed.
He reviewed in his mind every means of avenging himself on Festahli without breaking the Russian laws. Ah! if there had been a khan at Derbend instead of a colonel! One thrust of a dagger, all would have been said, and Kassime would be his own.
But he must not think of such a measure, expeditious though it was.
Iskander became moody, and spoke no more than a dead man. He did not see Hadji Yussef, who had been standing in front of him a long time.
Apart from his cowardice and lying, Hadji Yussef was truly an excellent man. He was really moved by his friend’s grief; he would have wept, had he known how.
“Why, what is the matter, my dear Iskander?” he asked.
“What is the matter yourself? what do you want of me?” demanded Iskander, frowning.
“I came to tell you that three vessels loaded with grain have arrived, and the people are well pleased. It is good news, Iskander.”
“If you had come to tell me that three vessels loaded with poison had arrived, the news would be better still.”
“Oh! oh! it is cloudy weather, is it? Come, tell me what vexes you.”
“Why should I tell you? As if you did not know already. As if all Derbend did not know, for that matter.”
“Is it true that Kassime’s mother refuses you for a son-in-law?”
“Her mother?”
Iskander burst into a laugh that made Yussef shiver. “Hermother? No; it is that wretch, Festahli,” said he; “but I will kill him!”
“It is easily seen that you have eaten bread on the mountains, my poor Iskander. It is not difficult to kill a man and run away; but, to the end of life, all thought of returning to one’s native town must be given up. For my part, I advise you to content yourself with a good drubbing; afterwards, you can tranquilly retire to Baku. If you absolutely wish to take a wife, well, you can get married there for three months; it will cost you twenty-five roubles. It is a magnificent invention, especially for travellers, that sort of marriage. I have tried it. I was married one day, just as I am, for six weeks only. I lacked the patience to serve out my time; I ran away at the end of a month. When asleep, I was in constant fear lest my wife should bite off my nose, she was so crabbed and spiteful. Try it, and I will wager that on your return you will bring me a present by way of thanks.”
Iskander continued pensive and silent.
“My dear heart, my handsome lily, my proud palm, Iskander,” resumed Hadji Yussef, “do you not hear me? are your ears full of water? A bride! i’ faith, a little matter that, a bride! Take a handful of roubles, go and show them in the Derbend market, crying, ‘A bride! a bride!’ and brides will flock around you like chickens.”
Iskander still maintained silence.
“But what is there about it, then, to grieve you so, Iskander. The devil! that Kassime of yours is no star.
In the first place, one of her eyes is larger than the other, and then she is so black that she will ruin you in the one item of Spanish white. I can even add that she is slightly hump-backed. Don’t contradict me, I know her, I have seen her.”
Iskander heard this time; he seized Yussef by the throat.
“You have seen her! Where have you seen her? how did you see her? when? in what place did you dare raise your basilisk eyes to her? Why don’t you answer me, wretch?”
“How can I answer you? you are choking me! Oh! in Allah’s name, let me go! Can’t you see that I am joking? You know very well that I keep my eyes in my pockets, and my pockets have no holes, thank God! And when could I have seen her, why should I have looked at her? Do I not know that she is the promised bride of my best friend? Never marry, Iskander; you are really too jealous for a man that is on good terms with the Russians. You would be obliged to stand guard all night, and to spy all day upon those who came to visit you. For that matter, I cannot see how they manage, these devils of Russians; they are not in the city ten days before they have already made friends with every one of our beauties. You know Mullah Kasim? —— bless God; but he is jealous, that fellow; well, he bought himself a charming wife. As he had paid dearly enough for her, he determined to keep her to himself. His wife had but one friend in the world, — a woman could not have less. Three times a week the friend came to Mullah Kasim’s house; he himself conducted her to his wife and stood guard at the gate, lest the two women should come upon the balcony and look down into the street. Do you know who that friend was? It was a young Eussian ensign who had as yet no beard.”
Iskander clutched Yussef’s arm, but not in anger this time.
“A man dressed as a woman?” said he. “Yes, that might really be possible indeed. Thanks for your story, Yussef; it is very amusing.”
“That is right. Well, now that you are in a better humor, I will leave you. I have a heap of business. This evening I represent the French ambassador at Yazid’s court. I must try on my tight trousers; I am afraid I shall not be able to get into them. May the devil make himself a jacket of a Russian’s skin for having thought of inventing these damned pantaloons! Now, if I meet a cock, he may as well stand still, — I shall get his tail for a plume. You will see, Iskander, how haughty I shall be when I appear on the scene. Every soldier greets me with: ‘We hope you are in good health, your Highness.9 Adieu! I have no time to lose if I wish to be admitted.”
And Yussef departed, throwing the sleeves of his tchouka back over his shoulders, that he might walk the faster.
Iskander sat alone, pensive, but smiling in his revery. The anecdote related by Yussef had given rise, in the midst of his garrulity, to an idea which was nothing less than to take advantage of the fête which they were then celebrating, — a kind of Mussulman carnival, — to disguise himself as a woman and approach Kassime.
Let us say forthwith that nothing adapts itself to such a disguise more readily than the Tartar costume, with its wide trousers, arkalouke, and immense veil.’
After he had decided upon this step, Iskander ceased to despair.
“Ah, I shall see her,” said he, “and she shall be mine! Then, Festahli, you shall know what it means to awaken a tiger. Kassime, Kassime, expect Iskander, even if the road between us were paved with daggers!”
And, on the instant, Iskander set off for the bazaar, and purchased a woman’s complete costume, pretending that it was a present for his fiancée.
Returning home, he despatched his noukar, whose indiscretion he feared, to the meadow with the horses; then, as soon as the noukar was gone, he shaved off all his beard, which, for the matter of that was barely beginning to grow; he stained his eyelids, painted his brows, put on some rouge and donned the trousers, arkalouke and veil; he practised the gait of the Tartar women in his new costume, retaining his bechemette so that he might be in masculine attire in case of necessity for attack or defence.
He awaited the evening impatiently; but the day, like a rich uncle, could not make up its mind to die.
At last, the gong beat for prayer, and the theatre was lighted.
Then Iskander placed on his cheeks two indispensable little spangles of gold, slipped his kandjiar into his girdle on one side and his pistol on the other, enveloped himself from head to foot in an immense white veil, and set out, carrying a little lantern in his hand.
At the end of a quarter of an hour, Kassime issued forth with two friends; all three were on their way to see the religious drama which was being enacted at Derbend in honor of the death of Hussein, and which very much resembles the Mysteries which the Brothers of the Passion used to perform in France during the Middle Ages.
Both streets and public squares were full of people afoot and on horses; for it is remarkable that at out-of-door performances in the Orient, no matter how crowded the spectators may be, at least a third of them is on horseback. This third circulates about, goes and comes without concerning itself as to the feet it crushes or the shoulders it injures. It is the pedestrian’s business to get out of the way and take care of himself. His only due is the Circassian warning, “Kabarda! Karbarda!” uttered from time to time, and equivalent to our own “look out, there!”
The house-tops, the only points inaccessible to the horsemen, were covered with women enveloped in long veils of every color.
The play had not yet begun. Upon the stage fitted up for the presentation of “Yazid,” the name of the tragedy, Mullah Sédek, between two other Mussulmans, was reading the prologue, and, at the pathetic places, he interrupted himself to cry to the spectators, “Weep and wail, O ye people!” The people responded to the apostrophe with groans and lamentations.
Utterly reckless, Iskander, who had followed Kassime, climbed after her up the small staircase which led them to the roof of a house which was already covered by a throng of Moslem women irradiated by numerous torches.
The women embraced as they met and recognized each other, laughing and talking with ceaseless babble.
All were richly dressed, and adorned with gold and silver necklaces, and each exhibited to the others, as rival to rival rather than as friend to friend, the finery which she was wearing for the first time.
One who has had no experience of the Asiatic woman does not know, and never will know, the half of an Asiatic man, should he live with him many years. In the presence of unbelievers, the followers of the prophet eternally wear a mask, and, outside of the harem, the Oriental man never shows to his own brother either the bottom of his heart or the depths of his purse. All nations have the same ruling passion, — that of vaunting their own customs. The Mussulmans are addicted to this more than any other people. If their word is to be accepted, you can regard them every one as saints. According to them, husbands and wives in the performance of their duties walk between the lines of the Koran and never step aside either to right or left. Only within his home does the Mussulman show himself as he is; it is because he has to render no account of his conduct to either wife or children. The wife, contrariwise, is quite free in her husband’s absence. No sooner has she seen the heels of his slippers, than she becomes unrecognizable. Speechless and humble before him, she becomes garrulous, boastful, shameless even before her female companions, with whom she is always sincere, as jealousy exists among the women of the Orient only in matters of costliness of apparel and value of gems.
Hence arises a double life entirely foreign to that of Europe, whose nature this book will be at least one of the first to signalize and impress, — a life less accessible even to men than to women, because man constantly reveals himself to woman, woman to man, never.
Now, suppose that in some way, — what way that is not my affair, — suppose that in some way you are in the company of a Moslem woman; suppose that you have penetrated to the bath and listened to her prattle with a friend; that you have entered the harem and seen her romp — it is the only word that presents itself to my pen — romp, I say, with her companions; clearly, you will learn more yourself than a Mussulman would ever tell you, more than he himself will know.
Judge, then, of Iskander’s astonishment when he found himself surrounded by feminine indiscretions. Lost in a flock of young women, pretty and talkative, —— he who had never spoken to a woman who had not passed her sixtieth year, — his eyes devoured them; he was eager to hear every word that they were saying.
“Ah, my dear, what a pretty coiffure you have! My stingy old husband has been to Snizily, and he brought me back some embroidered trousers. I am wrong to call him stingy, for he is not so with me; he refuses me nothing that I ask of him. It is true that he is very exacting, and that, for my part, I do just as he wishes.”
“Do you know, Fatima,” said another, “that my old ape of a husband has taken a second wife at Baku? I began to weep and reproach him. Guess what he answered me? ‘Can I go without rice?9 Oh! I shall have my revenge. He takes a second wife, the old rascal, and is in no condition to observe Saturday with me. Not he, my dear, no. It is incredible, is it not? But that is the way. By the by, do you know that a ukase has been issued in Russia ordering the women to wear trousers? I have myself seen ladies in Derbend with white trousers all embroidered and open-worked.
—— It was high time! They were scandalous to behold when the wind blew.”
“Oh! how good that soap is you gave me, my dear Sheker!” said a third; “and how grateful I am to you for it! Fancy, since using that, my skin has become like satin.”
“Ah, well, yes, she is dead,” a fourth was saying; “he killed her, so much the worse for her. When she fell in love with some one else, she ought to have known how to keep it to herself. As soon as her husband left the house, she went visiting, with a lantern, too. Faith! he killed her in short order.”
“Ah, my dear,” said a fifth, “how my children worry me! I never saw children grow so fast! To look at them, one would think I was an old woman; and they have sore heads, besides. You understand; I have never had a pimple myself; it comes from their father.”
“Ah! your little children may trouble you with their heads, but mine trouble me with their hearts. Mégely torments me beyond measure; he will give me no peace until I buy him a wife.”
“Ah well, buy one for the boy; he is tall and old enough to have a wife. I saw him pass just yesterday.”
“You are a silly one, you are! You talk as if a wife called for two kopecks. A wife costs something. Where shall I get the money, pray?”
“Ah!” cried a sixth, “what a shame! and you say, my dear, that she is with an Armenian? Are there no more Mussulmans or Russians, then?”
“How kind my husband is! if you but knew,” said a seventh; “and he is so handsome! he might be taken for the prophet himself, and although large—”
Iskander listened so intently that he almost forgot why he was there. Rut the cries, “They are beginning! they are beginning!” put an end to all chattering.
Each turned to the stage and gave her attention to the play. Yazid, in red caftan and green turban, was seated on his throne. Below him, at his left, standing on the fourth step of his throne, was the European ambassador, represented by Yussef in a fantastic costume, whose conspicuous features consisted of a three-cornered hat surmounted by an immense plume, an enormous sword, and spurs six inches long.
Yazid’s suite, composed of white-turbaned supernumeraries, formed a semi-circle about his throne.
But not Yazid’s self upon his throne, not the magnificent white-turbaned suite, produced an effect to be compared with that of Yussef, with a hat that would not keep its balance on his shaven pate, a sword he knew not where to put, and spurs that tore the trousers of the noblest and gravest lords of Yazid’s court.
But what especially excited great hilarity among the men, and the liveliest discussion among the women, was that gigantic nose and that colossal plume.
“Oh, look, sister,” said a little girl of rank, “look at that creature beside Yazid! What kind of beast does he represent?”
“That is a lion, you silly child,” responded the sister. “Did you not know that the abominable tyrant, Yazid, that brute among caliphs, always had a lion near him? If any one incurred his displeasure, he was thrown to the lion, who ate him up. Come, listen, there is Yazid saying to Hussein, ‘Adopt my religion or you shall die!’
Hussein sneezes, which signifies, — I will not.!
“That’s not a lion,” pursued the insistent little one; “lions have n’t beaks; it’s a bird.”
“A bird with a tail on his head! Have you ever seen birds with tails on their heads?”
“Yes; it’s a top-knot.”
“It’s a mane.”
“The child is right,” said a third, entering upon the discussion. “Can you not see that it is a parrot? This parrot was interpreting secretary at Yazid’s court. Do you not see how the caliph caresses him?”
“Then why does he shout like the devil?”
“Oh, do keep still, now, parrots of nieces that you are!” said a good Tartar dame weighing one hundred and fifty kilogrammes, and occupying the space of four ordinary people, with whom listening for herself was like listening for a whole society.
The dispute became general at this juncture. Some continued to maintain that it was a lion, others contended that it was a bird; but Yussef ought to have felt highly flattered that the general opinion held him to be some sort of an animal.
He, little suspecting the flutter which he heard to be occasioned by his own nose and feathers, was discoursing meanwhile with the tyrant.
“My king,” he was saying, “the ruler of France, having heard of your conquests, sends me to offer you his friendship.”
Yazid answered: “Let your king cease to eat pork, let him forbid his allies to eat it, and let him order them to become Mussulmans.”
“But if his friends refuse?” replied the ambassador.
“Then let him introduce my system.”
“Let us see your system,” demanded the ambassador. “Bring me my system,” said Yazid.
An executioner entered, naked sword in hand.
Yussef shook his head.
“What do you mean by that?” demanded Yazid.
“I mean, great prince, that your system would not succeed in Europe.”
“Why not?”
“Because it would be impossible to cut off a European’s head as you would an Arab’s.”
“Impossible?” said Yazid. “You shall see whether it is impossible.”
And, turning to his guards and the executioner, he commanded, —
“Take the European ambassador and cut off his head, that he may see that my system is adapted to every country.” — .
Guards and executioner advanced towards Yussef; but he had so recently taken part in a similar drama with Mullah Nour, that fact and fancy became confused in mind and sight; when he saw the guards about to lay hands on him, he wanted to run away; when he saw the executioner raise his sword, he emitted piercing shrieks. He was arrested when about to leap from the stage into the street, and brought back amid the frantic applause of the multitude, who had never seen terror simulated with such fidelity.
He was still heard calling Iskander to his rescue long after he had gone behind the scenes.
But Iskander had quite another affair on hand.
Iskander had at last got next to Kassime. He could scarcely breathe for joy; his heart was burning; he felt the warmth of Kassime’s cheeks; he inhaled the perfume of her breath.
What could you expect? He was in love; he was twenty years old; he loved for the first time.
But he could contain himself no longer when, in shifting her position to be more at her ease, Kassime leaned her hand on his knee.
“Kassime,” he whispered in her ear, “I must speak with you.”
And he gently pressed her hand.
The young girl’s heart and head were full of Iskander; she was hoping to see him at this fête, at which all Derbend was present. She had not come for Yazid’s sake; no caliph’s executioner was occupying her mind.
Her eyes had searched for Iskander on all sides, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Imagine, then, her amazement, fancy her joy when she heard in her ear that well-known, that beloved voice!
She had not the strength to resist.
Iskander rose; she followed him. He led her to the darkest corner of the roof.
Those around were so occupied with Yazid that there was nothing to fear.
Yet Iskander understood that he had no time to lose.
“Kassime,” said he, “do you know how I love you? do you know how I worship you? You see what I have risked for the sake of seeing you for one moment, for the sake of saying a few words to you. Then consider what I am capable of doing if you say, ‘Iskander, I love you not.’ Yes, or no, Kassime? yes, or no?”
Iskander’s eyes flashed lightnings through his veil; his left hand pressed Kassime’s waist, his right rested on his pistol. The poor child trembled as she looked about her.
“Iskander,” said she, “I ask of you but two things, —— do not kill me, do not disgrace me! I would gladly clasp you in my arms as closely as your sword belt; but you know my uncle.”
Then, urged on in spite of herself, after a moment’s hesitation, she added, —
“Iskander, I love you!”
And, like steel to the magnet, her lips were drawn to those of the young man.
“And now,” said she, “let me go.”
“So be it; but on one condition, my darling, — that we meet here to-morrow night.”
Kassime answered nothing; but the word to-morrow was so clearly revealed in the look which she gave her friend at parting, that Iskander took the rendezvous for granted.
I cannot tell you how Kassime passed the night; but Iskander’s sleep was very sweet.
There are some sins after which we sleep better than after the best of good works.